Learning to Howl
by OLDTHINGSNEWTHINGS
Summary: Salem is perfectly ready to accept her demise. After all, what other end is there for a hunter? However, when two strange men approach her brother shortly after her death, she decides that vengeful or not, she won't leave Brady alone and unprotected. She defies the reaper, and sticks around to find that existence after death can be livelier than she ever expected.


I am suspended above my smoldering ashes, smoke rising all about me.

My brother lies prostrate on the ground, his tears soaking into the earth before my pyre, and I cannot comfort him.

"We gotta go kid." A towering man leans over, resting his hand gently on Brady's trembling shoulder. "I'm sorry."

When Brady does not react, the man and his partner lift him off the ground.

_**"Where are you taking him?!"**_ I scream, but of course they do not hear me.

"_It's time."_ A chilling voice echoes from behind me.

I turn slowly, unwilling to take my eyes off of my brother.

"_Your life on this earth is over. You need to let go."_ A withered man in a blue business suit approaches me.

"You're a reaper." I back away. "I'm not going _anywhere_ with you."

I look away from the reaper, to see my brother being helped into a black Chevrolet Impala.

"_You were a hunter, Salem. You know what you will become if you stay." _The reaper sighs.

"I am _still_ a hunter, and I am _not_ leaving Brady." I snap. "_Fuck off_."

I close my eyes, and latch onto the only thing I know Brady will never let out of his sight.

The ratty leather pouch is just a stupid good luck charm dad made me when I was little, but I had watched Brady remove it from my shredded throat, and tie it around his own. It's stained with my blood, which makes attaching my spirit especially easy.

The reaper vanishes, and suddenly I am being drawn after the strange men.

The Impala grumbles down the road, protesting as the driver slams on the gas. I shift weightlessly in the back seat, watching Brady sob into the upholstery.

The tall hunter sits in the passenger seat, looking uncomfortable.

"Look, I know you don't know us kid," he says, attempting to break the silence, "My name is Sam, this is my brother Dean. We are here to help you. We're going to kill the thing that did this to your sister."

Brady sniffs, and looks up at Sam.

"A Wendigo didn't do this." He replies perceptively.

"Wait… how do you know we are hunting a Wendigo?" Dean, the driver, inquires suspiciously.

"Because, that's what S-salem and I were hunting." He says softly, his voice breaking as he chokes out my name.

"You're a hunter?" Sam raises his eyebrows incredulously.

"Our parents were hunters. They died when I was thirteen. Sadie was eighteen." He replies unsteadily. "It's been just the two of us for ten years now. She was all I had left."

At this Brady buries his face in his hands, and leans forward, sniffing.

"I'm sorry kid." Sam says, the pain and understanding in his voice apparent. "I know what you are feeling right now, better than you can guess."

"You said it _wasn't_ a Wendigo that got her?" Dean calls into the back seat, ignoring my brother's obvious distress. "What was it?"

"I don't _know_." Brady groans into his palms, "Sal and I were fighting, and I fumed out. When I came back, something was crouching over her body. I'd never seen anything like it before… and Sal was… was all covered in blood."

"What did it look like?" Dean persists.

"_Give him a break."_ I hiss, unheeded.

Brady is speechless, unsure how to describe the beast. Finally he pulls his well-worn sketchpad out of his satchel, and begins to draw feverishly.

He passes the finished product into the front seat, and Sam studies it closely.

"Dean, this is a _Gargoyle_." He exclaims disbelievingly.

"No way." Dean frowns. "Gargoyles have been extinct for hundreds of years."

"This sketch perfectly matches an illustration in one of the old journals in the bunker." Sam maintains. "Right down to the last detail."

"Why would a Gargoyle want to kill Sal?" Brady asks.

"Gargoyles aren't like normal monsters. They don't live just to destroy. The main reason they kill is to protect a nest." Sam explains. "They turn into statues during the day, and at night they come to life. Their statue form can vary, but at night they all look the same. Black skin, ridge of brown hair down their spines, giant leathery wings, fangs, and claws. If one killed Salem, that means she was probably getting too close to the nest for comfort. They live in community groupings, centered around their youngsters. They will pick off the occasional human, but they prefer large game and cattle. It was widely believed that they were killed off during the renaissance, but apparently not…"

"The argument… the reason I walked out on Salem…" Brady cringes. "She said it wasn't a Wendigo, and I disagreed. It was my first hunt taking point, and I wanted to be right so badly. I got mad, and I left; it's my fault she is dead."

"It's the damn Gargoyles fault she is dead," Dean tries to reassure him. "She wouldn't want you to blame yourself."

"_He's right_." I whisper, knowing full well it will do no good.

Sam turns nearly all the way around, placing a hand on Brady's back. "I promise, we are going to take care of this thing. I know that's little consolation when your loss is so great, but I _swear_ we will."

"No, _I_ will." Brady lifts his head, his pallid face suddenly ablaze with conviction. "I _will_ kill it. You're taking me with you."

"Not a chance." Dean says flatly.

"It's too dangerous." Sam agrees. "You can wait for us at the hotel."

"I didn't ask." Brady scowls. "You can argue all you want, but in the end I will do what I have to."

I stare at my baby brother in awe. I often forget how incredibly grown up he actually is, not to mention how _stubborn_. I didn't stay behind to watch him get killed… "_Listen to them Brae."_ I command mutely.

I'm beginning to see why spirits go vengeful. This is annoying as _hell_.

"Okay... You're a grown ass man." Dean concedes, "Maybe I haven't given you enough credit..."

The tires screech, as he pulls the Impala off road, and into an empty field.

"You say you can handle this?" Dean continues, "_Prove it."_

A few minutes later, Brady and Dean circle each other, fists held aloft.

Dean moves quickly, swinging out, his fists as quick as a viper strike.

He is fast, but Brady is faster. He dodges, and swings out, knocking Dean back a few steps, with a well-placed blow to the chest.

"Good one." Dean breathes, and moves back in.

They tussle for a few more minutes, each getting several decent blows in, until finally Sam steps in.

"Okay Brady, you're good." He admits. "You can definitely keep up with us. Just don't do anything stupid."

_"Of course he's good."_ I grumble over Sam's shoulder, _"I trained him."_

"Let's get back to the hotel, and figure out how to kill this thing." Dean consents.

Sam and Brady turn toward the car, but Dean remains stationary.

"Dean?" Sam calls, as he reaches the car, and notices his brothers absence.

_"Give me a minute Sam."_ Dean shouts.

Sam shrugs, and climbs into the Impala, as Dean turns, and strait walks toward me.

I move to the side to avoid becoming a tell-tale cold spot.

As I drift away, he arcs toward me. I scowl, and dodge again.

Once more, he shadows me, "You should have let go, Salem O'Daniel." He says flatly.

My eyes widen, and for moment I am speechless.

Finally, I find my voice, _"Y-you can see me?"_

He looks at me blankly for several seconds, before grinning wickedly. He blinks, and his eyes are black as coal. _"I can see a lot of things, humans can't."_

"_**Brady**_!" I panic.

"Calm _down_. I'm not gonna hurt the kid." Dean scoffs.

"You're a _demon_." I hiss.

"And you're a ghost." He retorts. "Are _you_ gonna kill him?"

"N-no..." I cringe at the thought.

"_There_." Dean says. "Now... What are we gonna do with you?"

"Please just let me be." I beg. "I need to watch out for my baby brother."

"Your brother just matched a specialized demon blow for blow. He'll be fine." Dean points out.

"I can't leave him."

"Fine," he crosses his arms, "Do you want him to know you're here?"

"No. Not yet." I decide. "Please just keep this between the two of us."

"Okay." Dean gives in, his eyes reverting to their original green. "Be careful though. Historically speaking, this story does not end well."

"If I feel even a _little_ vengeful, I'll let you off me." I promise.

"I'll hold you to that." He replies, and starts toward the car.

I catch Dean looking at me in the rearview several times throughout the trip back to the hotel. I am not thrilled that one of my brother's new travelling buddies is a demon, but he does make a good point.

_Yesterday, I would have hunted myself. _

Anyway, Brady seems safe for now, and at least someone acknowledges my presence.

We arrive at the hotel, and everyone traipses inside.

Brady takes off my leather necklace, laying it on the side table, and climbs into one of the beds, uninvited. Sam flops in the other.

Dean sits in the windowsill, staring out at the moon.

The others breath deepens, as they drift off to sleep. Dean stands, walking to the table, and snatching my necklace, shoving it into his pocket.

"Let's go for a walk _ghosty_." He whispers, striding out the door.

I feel an uncomfortable tugging in my stomach, as I am compelled to follow my anchor.

I look longingly at Brady, before complying.

Dean takes me outside, and into the woods behind the hotel. He climbs up a rocky outcrop steadily, and I drift along behind him unwillingly.

"Where are we going?" I gripe.

"To howl at the moon." Dean replies, "Us creatures of the night gotta stick together."

"I don't _like_ leaving them alone like this..."

"Lighten up." Dean scoffs, "I know what it's like, that feeling that you are the only thing standing between little brother and the big-bads of this world. You'll drive yourself crazy that way... _I certainly did_."

"What changed?" I ask curiously.

"My species." He grins, flashing his eyes again.

"Oh... Demon... Right." I frown uncomfortably. "So you just don't care about Sam anymore?"

_"It's not that..."_ He sighs. "I just see things more clearly. I recognize that he can handle a lot more than I gave him credit for."

"Well apparently being a ghost doesn't clear things up that way." I reply.

"Yeah, I know." He sighs. "Anyway, they'll be okay."

"Where are we going?" I ask again.

"Up, mostly." Dean answers.

"So... No specific plan in mind?"

"Howling at the moon." He replies.

"You're pretty single-minded on that huh?" I ask.

"Nope, but _he_ is." Dean points to the top of the ridge, where a well dressed, middle aged man stands, waiting.

"Crowley." Dean greets him flatly as we approach.

"_Dean_." The man called Crowley answers.

"What do you want?" He asks, his tone tempered with distaste.

"I've no idea _what_ you mean." Crowley smiles sourly.

"You called me here." Dean responds.

"Who is your lovely companion?" He asks, leaning around Dean to look at me.

"Wait... He can see me too?" I ask, as the realization dawns on me that this may not be a man.

"Crowley, this is Salem, a ghost." Dean introduces us, "Salem, meet Crowley, king of hell."

"King of Hell!?" I exclaim, suddenly on edge. "Why are you meeting with the king of hell?"

"That's exactly what I'd like to know." Dean turns back to Crowley, crossing his arms.

"I have a job for you." Crowley steps forward.

"How many times do I have to tell you, _I'm not your bitch_." Dean frowns.

"I have a _hunt_ for you." Crowley revises.

"That's more like it." Dean relaxes slightly. "What you got?"

"Demon, goes by the name of Astrid. She was a crossroads demon, but she's gone rogue, collecting souls _years_ before they are due." Crowley explains.

"You want me to off her?"

"Of course I do." Crowley says sardonically. "Hell needs order, and when demons break the rules, there is no order. That's why the knights of hell exist."

"I'm not a knight of hell, but far be it from me to pass up a chance to gank a demon." Dean replies. "In exchange, what do you know about gargoyles."

"Everything." Crowley says. "Be specific in your questioning."

"How to kill them, _specifically_." Dean grits his teeth.

"Wait until daylight. Find the statues. Break the statues." Crowley replies. "It's dreadfully simple."

"How do we know which statues are gargoyles?" I ask, inadvertently joining the conversation.

Crowley looks at me quizzically, then answers. "They all have a tell. A mark on the back of their neck." He traces an invisible sign in the air, like a pair of sideways cat eyes. "Find he mark, find the gargoyle. But make sure you get them all before dark, because if any are left, they will come for you, and a gargoyle without a family is a foul thing."

With that, Crowley vanishes, and Dean starts back down the hill.

"So… you work for the king of hell?" I say meekly.

"Sort of." Dean sighs. "It's a long story."

I don't reply, and he looks back at me. I cross my arms, and tilt my head expectantly.

"_Fine_." He concedes, and perches on top of a nearby bolder.

He tells me a overwhelming story, about apocalypses, leviathans, angels, and demons. He explains what a 'Metatron' is, and how the douche pretty much ruined everything for everyone.

He downplays his part in the story, but I suspect that he probably acted far more heroically than he lets on.

"So you practically saved everyone, and became a demon because of it." I point out.

"_No_." He says, flustered, "I mean, sort of, but it's not as great as you make it sound."

"You're a hero, you know," I respond, "Even though you don't want to see it that way."

"I'm a monster." He says. "And that's the only way _to_ see it."

"Well, the sun will be up soon." I change the subject. "We should.."

"Yeah." He agrees, hopping off the rock, and heading back down hill.

As I am tugged along down the hill, I think about the story.

Dean Winchester gave everything for humanity, and he doesn't even realize it.

We make it to the hotel room, just as the sun breaks over the horizon.

"_**Wake up**_." Dean shouts, causing both Sam and Brady to jump, drawing their weapons groggily. "It's gonna be a loooong day, and we've got some gargoyles to gank."

A few minutes later, we are back in the Impala, headed toward the hotel where my life ended. Dean figures it has to be near the nest, for the gargoyles to act so quickly. He explains our findings to Sam and Brady, carefully editing out the source of the information.

Once we arrive, the three hunters spread out all over town, looking for shifty statues.

I trail around after Brady, who thankfully has my pouch tied around his neck again.

He works quickly, checking statues, staying out of sight.

We come upon a huge Catholic Church, and Brady sneaks in, skirting around the wall.

He stops at the first saint, squeezing in behind it. He squints at the back of its neck, and his eyes widen. He pulls out his cell, dialing Sam. "I found them. Come to St. Christopher's, on east and second."

Moments later, Sam and Dean slip in, joining Brady behind Mother Mary.

"This is bad." Sam frowns. "We are going to have to move extremely quickly. The first statue goes down, and they'll call the police."

"There's only the priest here." Brady points out. "We could... Restrain him."

"Tying up a priest. This should add some serious brownie points to my rep sheet." Sam groans, but heads out, returning with a length of rope from the car. A few moments later, the priest is unconscious in the confessional booth, and they are checking statues, pushing over the ones with a mark.

"This is bad... This is so _wrong_..." Sam mumbles. "We are going to hell."

"Been there," Dean grins, "_Done that_."

"Wow, that joke never gets old with you, does it?" Sam rolls his eyes.

Finally the entire church is cleared, a total of seventeen statues, including several baby Jesus', lay shattered on the ground. We gather in the center aisle, and look up at the giant Crucifix behind the altar.

"So do you think..." Brady begins.

"_Nah_." Sam and Dean say in unison.

_"Better safe than sorry."_ I respond, knowing at least Dean will hear me.

I heave myself up behind the crucifix, but the cross blocks the back of the neck.

"_Great_." I sigh.

The statue is bronze anyway. Any attempt to destroy it would be fruitless.

"Let's go." Sam sighs, and we make our way back to the car.

Once we get out of town, Dean calls in an anonymous tip about the tied up priest, then tosses the burn phone out the window.

We make it back to the hotel as night falls, and the humans collapse in bed, exhausted.

Once they are asleep, Dean steals out the door silently, leaving me alone.

I pace back and forth, waiting, wondering if we got all the gargoyles.

A few hours pass, and I become uneasy. I hate being bored.

All at once, the room springs to life. Dean flies through the wooden door, and smashes into the back wall. Sam and Brady jump up, each drawing a weapon.

Then the gargoyle enters: It _has_ to be the Jesus. The beast is massive; clearly an alpha male.

It is hunched down, knuckles nearly dragging the floor. The ridge of fur on his back stands strait, bristling with rage.

Dean pushes himself up off the floor, and I notice a reddish glow illuminating his face, highlighting his soulless eyes. My gaze is drawn to the Mark of Cain, which is now a flaming red.

Brady is momentarily distracted, staring at Dean wildly.

"I'll explain later kid." Sam shouts, "We have bigger problems right now."

Dean lunges at the beast, first blade drawn.

Before he can strike, the gargoyle slashes out, flinging Dean again.

"_**DEAN**_!" Sam moves forward, but Dean lands on his feet.

"Don't move Sam!" He orders. "This thing is too powerful. You're only human."

_"I'm not."_ I realize suddenly. I focus my energy, but I cannot manifest.

Dean moves back in, dodging and slashing, but making no progress.

The beast strikes again, and Dean is sent through the wall, into the bathroom mirror.

He slides down to the floor, momentarily immobilized.

Giant Jesus gargoyle turns back on Sam and Brady, and suddenly I feel it:

The desire to protect Brady, the rage I feel at the thought of him dying, it courses through me, and I am able to feel everything.

I manifest behind the gargoyle, driving my hand through his leathery back, until I clasp his beating heart.

He falls forward, smashing to the floor in front of them. I am still manifesting, it feels like a deranged adrenaline rush.

I drop the dead heart, and look at Brady, whose face is frozen in terror.

Sam reaches back for his shotgun, and before I can react, he blasts a salt round right through my torso.

The pain is otherworldly. The room fades from view, and suddenly I am nowhere. I float in the void for several minutes, before I am able to pull myself together, and reappear in the room.

Sam is sitting on the edge of the bed, nursing a fresh black eye.

Dean is holding Brady back, as he struggles to turn the other eye into a matching set. _"YOU SHOT MY SISTER YOU BASTARD!" _He shouts at poor Sam.

"_Stop_!" I cry, and Brady's arms drop to his side.

He turns to me, his face ashen.

"_Sal_?" He asks, his voice shaking.

"Yeah, it's me Brady." I say delicately.

"How?" He asks. "We burned your body."

"There is blood on that pouch." Dean explains.

"_**YOU**_!" Brady wrenches out of Deans grasp. "You're a demon! I saw you!"

"Easy Brae." I say, as his hand itches for the holy water. "Dean isn't evil. Neither am I. We are sort of... _Exceptions_ to the rule..."

"You both have a lot of explaining to do." Sam scowls.

"I'll start." I sigh. "Brady, when the gargoyle got me, I knew I was dead. I was ready to go, but then Sam and Dean showed up, and I got scared. They helped you burn me, so they were obviously hunters, but I didn't _know_ them. I couldn't stand to leave you alone. I attached myself to the pouch, because I knew you would keep it on you."

"I wish you hadn't." Brady says flatly. "You're just making things harder for me. You'll become vengeful, and I _won't_ watch that."

He yanks my pouch from his neck, and pulls his lighter out of his pocket.

My chest aches, as I realize what is happening. "It's okay Brady." I say. "Do it."

Before he can flick the flame to life, a gruff hand takes his wrist. "Give me the pouch, Brady." Dean commands. "Maybe we can find a way to bring her back, but not if you destroy her spirit."

"I don't make deals with _demons_." Brady scowls.

"I'm _**NOT**_ offering you a deal, and I'm _**NOT**_ asking your permission." Dean yanks the pouch from Brady's grasp, shoving it in the pocket of his faded blue jeans.

Brady looks at Dean, then back at me. "_You really think we could..."_

"We can try." Sam says, placing his hand on Brady's shoulder. "She deserves a chance."

I see a spark of faith work its way into Brady's eyes, and for his sake, I hope Dean and Sam know something I don't…


End file.
